


The First Time - Another Time

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Handcuffs, M/M, Non Consensual, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva has a little fun with Bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time - Another Time

"Tell me about the first time," Silva purrs.

He has Bond handcuffed and bent over the table. His limbs are stretched wide, Silva's fingers exploring.

"It was another agent in the field." Bond says blandly. It's a lie. It was a boy at Eton, but he'll be damned if he gives up that part of himself to the man. 

Silva chuckles. "Tell me how it felt."

The fingers move further inside him and Bonds hands clench against the table. 

"Energetic." He murmurs.

Silva laughs and strokes casually across Bond's prostate, making him shudder.

"You're such a liar." Silva does it again and Bond swallows dryly.

"Why don't you tell me then," he manages. "Since you know me so well."

The fingers twist cruelly then, and he bites down on the pain.

"You were young, fourteen, fifteen perhaps. It was another schoolboy, a fellow student." 

The fingers move quicker now, setting a steady rhythm inside him. "And you wanted him."

Bond's cock is responding in spite of himself, rubbing against the table.

"Tell me how it felt." Silva wraps his other hand around Bond's cock, giving it an almost gentle squeeze.

"Satisfactory." Bond's murmurs, cheek pressed into the table. He remembers the boy clearly. Dark hair, blue eyes, and a wide, beautiful smile. It had been a game. See who could get the new student first, but like with some games, Bond had gotten attached. The game hadn't mattered any more when he had won the boy's mouth, his body spread open under Bond's.

"You're getting nostalgic, and you're not sharing." Silva's hands leave his ass and cock to pull at Bond’s hair in irritation.

"I'd ask you to tell me about your childhood," Bond says blithely. "But frankly I don't care." 

There's a sharp, flat slap to his arse that leaves his skin tingling.

"Now, now." Silva's more amused than angry. He reaches around the table to jab two fingers inside Bond's mouth. "Suck. You can bite if you want to, but I think you know what'll happen if you do."

He doesn't know for sure, but Bond has a pretty good idea. He doesn't bite. He lets the fingers rub over his tongue pervasively, familiarly. It makes him want to gag. Silva steals his saliva and pulls his fingers wetly from Bond’s mouth.

Bond braces himself for what’s going to happen next. All the same his body still tenses when the fingers push back inside, stretching him further, until Silva finally stops toying with him. 

Bond tenses even more the man’s prick invades him. It’s not his first time by any means, but it’s been a long time since he last did this. All the care Silva took in preparing him only accentuates his cock’s thickness. His balls rest against Bond’s arse, slapping slightly against him as Silva thrusts deeper.

“You like that, don’t you?” He pushes closer, leaning into Bond possessively. “You like my cock. It’s been so long since you’ve been screwed by something other than mother England.” 

Silva rubs against him and Bond resists the urge to try to throw him off. “Tell me what you like about it.”

“It’s so bloody big; I can’t imagine ever being satisfied by anything else.” Bond tells him sarcastically. 

Silva pauses, then laughs, long and loud. “I can see why she likes you.” His fingers stroke along Bond’s cheek. “I’m sure she has her hands full keeping you in line.” 

“She has her moments.” 

Silva's hand returns to tease his cock. "Ask nicely, and I'll get you off." It's not a request.

"Go on then, if you're so eager." 

Silva's nails scrape along his cock, making Bond flinch. "A little please would be the polite thing." His nails dig in harder and Bond stifles a groan of pain. "Say please, James. Say it."

He grips harder, nails sharp until Bond grits out, " _Please_." His cock stings as Silva starts stroking him off. The man's touch is rough, but sensual, intent on making Bond come before he does. 

Which Bond does, with a smothered moan.

Bond winces as Silva pulls out and stretches him even wider before he pushes back inside, moving faster now. Bond’s stomach is taut against the table top. His thighs strain from bracing himself. Really, how much does the man have left in him?

Silva finishes at long last. He drops a wet kiss to the side of Bond’s throat as he slips out of him. “I thought you’d have a little more fight in you.”

“And I thought you’d last longer.” Bond remarks. Obviously, he’s relieved the man didn’t, but it does no harm to insult him.

The sharp punch to his kidneys tells him otherwise. Silva’s henchman untie him from the table and drag him to another room. There’s a sharp prick of a needle and Bond’s vision blurs. Then everything goes black. 

* * *

When Bond wakes up, he's blindfolded, kneeling somewhere, cold pavement beneath his bare knees. He's naked. He flexes his arms trying to get a grip on his bindings, but no go. His legs ache. How long has he been in this position? He has no idea.

There's movement in front of him, then a hand in his hair, pulling his head back. 

"Open up," Silva pushes his cock through Bond’s narrowed lips, hitting the back of his throat. Bond gags. Silva’s grip on his hair tightens. “No teeth, dear boy. Do remember that.” 

He could bite him, but he can’t think straight. The dark is throwing him off. There’s only the cock fucking his mouth, leaving him no room to think, no room to breathe. There’s tears at the corner of his eyes, and the darkness overwhelms him. Silva pinches the bridge of his nose and Bond gags again, choking down the man’s spunk desperately. 

Silva chuckles, tugging his head back so Bond’s bent backward, trying to remain upright. “Next time I’ll come all over your pretty English face.”

Somehow Bond thinks he means it.


End file.
